


Neverland

by adoctoraday



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Beth Greene Sings, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Daryl Dixon & Beth Greene Friendship, Daryl Dixon Smut, Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gossip, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Kid Daryl Dixon, Neverland, Paparazzi, Peter Pan References, Press and Tabloids, Scars, Small Towns, Smut, bethyl, kid Beth Greene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoctoraday/pseuds/adoctoraday
Summary: Beth Greene is a rising country music star, the hottest new singer in Nashville, but when tragedy strikes, she head back to her small town roots and reconnects with an old childhood friend, Daryl Dixon.





	1. Lost Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be three parts (most likely) and will be update as I have time. Neverland is inspired of course, by the story of Peter Pan and the song “lost boy” by Ruth B. There is also some inspiration in the final two parts from the book Holes, so if you spot it, shout it out in the comments!! Enjoy!! 
> 
> Playlist link: https://open.spotify.com/user/h8zhsilbhzlfphod5alsli88e/playlist/5hicVeL5TS0nAp7wS3po7L?si=4H-DFOI5RFuBjcsOYeEMaQ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter are: “Lost Boy” Ruth B, “Without You” Kings and Queens, “Aftermath” Lifehouse.

He hears the singing for the first time when he's 14, running through the woods, tree branches slapping at his face and briar bushes clinging to his jeans as he’s racing his demons. He’s trying to get away from the horrors of home, trying to outrun a mean old drunk he thinks just might kill him if he gets his hands on him. 

 

The voice is light, clear as a bell, and he thinks it must be an angel, leading him through the trees until he stumbles onto the edge of a small clearing, filled with flowers. It’s a bright and clear day, too sunny for the darkness he’s trying to escape; it recedes into the shadows, waiting for him to lower his guard, to forget for a moment it’s there. 

 

Because it’ll always come back. 

 

Two girls are dancing and picking flowers, one of them brunette and looking to be around his age, while the other couldn’t be more than eight with a halo of blonde frizzy hair. She’s smiling as she sings, fingers braiding a crown of black eyed susans and Cherokee roses together. 

 

_ I heard a voice from the other side singing, _

_ "Hold fast, love last" _

_ As winter turns into summertime singing, _

_ "Hold fast, love last" _

_ I heard a voice from the other side singing, _

_ "Hold fast, love last" _

_ As winter turns into summertime singing, _

_ "Hold fast" _

 

As she finishes her crown and lifts it to towards the taller girl’s head, she trails off to a hum, grinning when the other girl bends down so it can sit a little straighter on her head. “You look like a princess Maggie,” she exclaims happily, giggling when the older girl begins waving like one of those beauty queen pageant girls he’s seen on tv. 

 

From his spot hiding behind the tree, he watches as they braid another crown for the younger girl, giggling as they fill their arms with flowers, chattering about how their momma will love them. He watches as they scamper away, chest aching with some unknown emotion as the little blonde girls’ singing fades away through the trees. 

 

When he’s sure they’re gone, he wades out into the flowers, flops down in the tall grass, and closes his eyes. He’s been alone for a long time, without friends, and no place he’d willingly call home. Not since his momma died anyway. 

 

His momma always used to tell him the man in the moon was his friend, that he could always find him if he just looked up. But he knows that’s not true anymore. The sun warms his skin and the scent of the flowers fills his nose. For the first time in years, he feels calm, almost happy. 

 

He drifts off to sleep, breeze blowing across his face, dreaming of a sweet voice and a halo of curls brighter than the sun. 

 

* * *

Daryl is busy mowing hay, repairing fences, cleaning stalls; anything that needed being done on the large Greene farm.

 

His daddy had gotten the job a few days ago when one of the cattle knocked through a weak section of fence and wandered into their yard. Daryl had been the one to bring it back, gently guiding the animal through the trees with a sure and steady hand. Hershel Greene had been impressed by the young man, offering him a job helping around the farm. 

 

At first Daryl refused, shrugging off the offer, barely mumbling out his name before he ran away. A day later Hershel was knocking at their trailer door, making the same offer, this time to all three men. His daddy had miraculously been sober and had taken the offer, promising they would be there first thing Monday. 

 

Daryl knew it wouldn’t last, and when Monday rolled around, his daddy was too drunk to even stand straight. He and Merle went over to the farm anyway, knocking on the door, shifting nervously in their worn and dirty clothes as they waited for someone to answer the door. 

 

When it was opened by a little blonde haired girl, Daryl felt a flash of surprise and recognition. She glanced between them, eyes cautious for a moment before she asked who they were and what they were doing there. Merle spoke up, “Yer daddy hired us to work. He ‘round?”

 

She had stared at them, eyes flickering between them, and then nodded. Her daddy had appeared behind her, resting a hand on her head as he glanced between the boys. “Daryl, Merle,” he had greeted pleasantly. His gaze had darted around the porch for a moment, “Where’s your daddy?” he had asked, sounding as though he already knew the answer. 

 

“He’s sick,” Merle had muttered, avoiding the other man’s gaze. 

 

Hershel had appeared to think it over for a minute, then nodded. “Well, why don’t you boys follow me, I’ll show you around.”

 

Trailing behind them like a little bit of sunshine was the little girl, hair bright and eyes curious. 

 

* * *

Daryl is busy raking out the stalls; his brother hasn’t shown up today, hasn’t been around for days and he’s starting to worry that he’s not coming home this time. One of the horses slings its head over the stall door, nickering at him and a faint smile curls the corner of his lips. Resting the rake on the wall, he walks over and holds his hand out, smile expanding as the horse sniffs and whuffles, examining him.

 

“What’s yer name, huh?” 

 

The stall door doesn’t have a name plate or anything to identify the horse, so he shrugs and runs a hand along its neck. A quick glance inside tells him it’s a girl, and when she nudges her head into him, he laughs softly and begins scratching behind her ears. 

 

“That’s JuneBug.”

 

Whirling around, heart pounding, he freezes at the sight of the little blonde girl, Beth.

 

_ Will she tell her daddy I ain’t workin?  _

 

She has a tendency to follow him while he’s doing his chores, pestering him with questions until he snaps at her and she runs away. Like little kids do, she always comes back, smiling and singing. 

 

When he doesn’t respond she sighs, and smiles faintly. “It’s almost lunchtime, daddy wanted you to come up to the house and eat.”

 

Daryl shakes his head, “Tha’s okay. I ain’t hungry.”

 

Her pale brows rise, “You been workin so hard, you gotta be hungry. I’m  _ always _ hungry,” she tells him. Scowling, he turns away, heading back into the stall he had been working on cleaning. Beth follows, still talking. “My momma made turkey sandwiches with bacon, and potato salad, it’s real good,” she tells him. 

 

Daryl studiously ignores her, ignores the rumbling in his belly, tries to focus on his task. He don’t take charity, even if he is hungry and hasn’t eaten more today than the scraps of squirrel he caught in one of his traps earlier in the week. 

 

He hears Beth sigh and then the soft sound of feet crunching against hay. When he glances over his shoulder, she’s gone. Satisfaction and disappointment fill him, he doesn’t mind her so much when she’s singin’, it’s just when she won’t stop asking him questions, he gets flustered. 

 

It’s clear to him how little he knows when she’s asking him about school, and he doesn’t know how to answer, and so, he snaps at her. 

 

A few minutes later as he’s shoveling fresh sawdust into the stalls, he hears footsteps again, and there she is, holding a big basket filled with food and juice boxes. She grins at him, “Come on, we’re gonna have a picnic!” 

 

He scowls and ducks his head, but when his stomach growls and he realizes his head is throbbing, he relents. Nodding, he follows her into the tack room, pulling down a couple of saddle blankets for them to sit on. 

 

She hums as she lays out the food, smiling happily when he reaches for the food. She eats quietly, surprising him, because she never does  _ anything  _ quietly. 

 

There’s a scuffling noise outside the room and Daryl figures it’s one of the horses. 

 

“Daryl!”

 

The shout of his name in his daddy’s slurred and angry voice makes his skin feel two sizes too small. Beth’s staring at the door, worry on her small face and when he gets up she looks up at him, scared. 

 

“Are you in trouble?” She whispers, blue eyes wide. 

 

He ignores her and hurries out to find his daddy stumbling through the barn, drunk as a skunk and twice as mean. When his gaze lands on Daryl, it narrows, filling with hate and rage. 

 

“C’mere boy!” He barks, and Daryl takes a few steps forward, trying to stay out of reach in case he’s in the mood to beat him. This hesitation only seems to anger his daddy further, and in two large steps he’s looming over Daryl, thick meaty fingers closing cruelly around his arm. He yanks him forward, growling, and Daryl can smell the cheap whiskey on his breath. 

 

“Ya come when I call ya boy!”

 

Daryl glares up at him defiantly, barely flinching when his daddy snarls and backhands him, sending him sprawling to the ground. He hears the clink of the belt and braces himself, knowing what’s coming already. The older scars on his back and the newer scabs twinge in sympathy, and for a moment he’s breathless with fear. 

 

“Disrespectin me, ya little shit!”

 

Daryl’s fingers dig into the dirt floor, biting the inside of his mouth to hold in his cries as the belt lashes against his skin. His eyes are screwed shut and his whole body is trembling under the assault, and he prays that the old man will get tired before he hits him too many times. 

 

“Hey! You stop that!” 

 

His eyes pop open to find Beth standing in front of him, hands on her tiny hips as she glares at his daddy. He’s speechless in the face of her defiance and fearlessness. No one stands up to his daddy. Not without getting a fist to the gut. 

 

His daddy pauses and leers at her, “Who tha fuck ya think ya are? Tellin a man what ta do,” he scoffs. 

 

She glares at him, “I’m Beth Greene an’ this is  _ my _ farm,” she tells him defiantly. “Now leave Daryl alone!” she demands. 

 

His daddy scoffs again and Daryl glances back hesitantly, stomach clenching when he sees his daddy’s knuckles tighten around the belt. He takes a step towards Beth and Daryl scrambles to his feet, trying to get between them. But Beth doesn’t back down, in fact, she makes an odd sort of noise, lowers her head, and runs full tilt at his daddy. 

 

Daryl stares in stunned amazement as her tiny body slams into his daddy, throwing them both off balance until he sways drunkenly and collapses to the floor, one meaty hand connecting with her cheek as he falls. She reels back, stumbling into the stall door and when she rights herself, Daryl is horrified to see blood running down her face  from a gash in the tender flesh of her cheek. 

 

Eyes blazing, Beth lunges at his daddy, a flurry of movement, kicking him in the ribs, screaming at him. “You leave Daryl alone! Ya hear?!” 

 

Realizing the danger she’s put herself in, he darts forward and grabs ahold of her arm, dragging her back until he can pull her out of the barn and towards the house. She digs her heels in, glaring at him. “Why’d you stop me!?” she demands angrily. 

 

Amazed at her fearlessness bordering on insanity, he shakes his head, “He’d a killed ya,” he tells her, “Ya seen what he done ta me.”

 

She nods, lips turning down in a frown. “We gotta tell my daddy,” she tells him, turning towards the house, only to be pulled back by his hand on her arm. He shakes his head, fingers tightening. 

 

“Ya can’t. No one can know. They’d take me an’ put me in some foster home,” he tells her. Beth frowns deeper and seems to think about it for a minute before sighing and nodding slowly. 

 

“Okay. I won’t tell.” She stares at him for a moment before lurching forward, tiny arms wrapping around his waist firmly. He’s stunned for a moment and then, slowly, his hands press against the tiny span of her back. He’s amazed by her, she’s so tiny, delicate like a bird, but so, so strong. 

 

She holds onto him until he clears his throat nervously and pushes her back gently. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a hint of a smile and she grins back happily. A scuffling noise behind them draws their gazes to where his daddy is lumbering out of the barn and towards the woods separating the Greene farm from the trailer they live in. 

 

They watch as he disappears and a sigh of relief is shared between them. This time when she follows him into the barn, he doesn’t snap at her or tell her to leave him alone. 

 

He cleans the blood from her cheek and clumsily presses a band aid to it before they sit back down to eat and she’s singing and tellin him silly stories and it occurs to him, he’s happy, here with her. 

 

* * *

She’s rambling on about something, he’s not really paying attention, but he knows it’s something about magic and flying and some kid named Peter.

 

“And they fly to Neverland and live  _ forever! _ ” she declares, wide eyed in amazement. 

 

He scoffs. “No one lives forever girl.” 

 

“Peter Pan does!”

 

He just shakes his head, the corner of his mouth ticking in a faint smile. 

 

“Ain’t you never read Peter Pan?” She demands, staring at him curiously. 

 

He flushes; he can barely read, he’s missed so much school between taking care of his daddy and trying to put food in the table. All he’s ever heard from the old man is how dumb he is, and Daryl figures he must be; can’t read better than a little girl or do much math. 

 

He shakes his head, “Don’t go to school much,” he admits, face burning with embarrassment. 

 

Beth scoffs, “Well I got tha book, you can borrow it,” she offers. 

 

Embarrassment makes him mean, “I don’t want ya stupid book,” he snaps at her and his heart sinks into his stomach at the look on her tiny face.

 

Tears collect in her eyes for a moment before she’s running off, leaving him behind to finish repairing the fence. 

 

When he sees her again just as he’s leaving for the day, she’s got a book in one hand and something wrapped in foil in the other. She holds both out, mouth set in determination.

 

“Here, dinner and Peter Pan. Take ‘em,” she orders.

 

Daryl stares at her for a moment, indecision heavy in him. He reaches out and takes the food, but shakes his head at the book. 

 

“Don’t read so good,” he tells her quietly, cheeks burning as he ducks his head to avoid her too bright gaze.

 

“Oh.”

 

It’s a quiet sound and when he chances a glance up at her, she’s staring at him curiously, like she’s tryin to work out a puzzle. 

 

“Well, I’ll teach ya,” she finally says. 

 

He stares at her, hesitant. No one has ever cared about him enough to try and help him. He’d wonder if she wants something in return, but she’s so young he thinks she probably doesn’t understand how people usually are. 

 

So he nods, and then she’s grinning and wrapping her arms around him. He feels like maybe she’s holding him together with how tight her arms are, and this time he’s a little less hesitant to hug her back. 

 

* * *

They practice his reading during lunch, her tiny finger tracing under the words, quietly helping him sound out words as he goes. She’s patient, doesn’t laugh when he inevitably messes up, and takes enormous pleasure in his growing ability to read.

 

By the time summer ends, he’s read the whole book with her help, and in return he’s showed her the woods. He teaches her how to use his crossbow, dress an animal, and cook it over a campfire. Sometimes though, they just play, pretending that they’re on the run from Captain Hook; she’s Wendy Darling and he’s Peter Pan. 

 

He knows it’s dumb, that he’s too old for it, but when he’s with her, he can run away from reality. On his last day on the farm before school starts, she holds the book out to him with a smile. 

 

“Now ya can go to Neverland whenever you want,” she tells him with a conspiratorial smile. 

 

He’s slow to take it, knows if his daddy finds it, he’ll burn it, tear it apart, beat him with it maybe. So he shakes his head and pushes it back toward her. 

 

“Nah girl, ya keep it safe for me, huh?” She looks thoughtful and nods, eyes cautious. “I’ll come see ya when I wanna read it,” he assures her. 

 

She smiles faintly and a sad look creeps across her face. She tucks her chin and he thinks he sees tears in her eyes. His stomach clenches and he steps forward, “Hey girl, wha’s wrong?” he asks softly. 

 

She sniffles and shakes her head, “I’m gonna miss you so bad,” she admits and then she’s (of course) throwing herself at him, tiny arms like bands of iron around his waist. 

 

He’s always surprised by how strong she is. Knocking down his daddy, making him her friend, teaching him to read. He smiles faintly and pats her back, “I’ll miss you too little bird.”

 

* * *

He does come, like he promised he would, because his daddy has a whore in the trailer and he doesn’t want to see...doesn’t want  _ hear  _ it, so he runs. Puts on his threadbare jacket and runs through the woods till he’s climb into the hayloft of the barn and laying on the sweet smelling hay.

 

The last time he was here Beth had shown him a little shelf of books for him, tucked under the far window so he can sit and read whenever he wants. It was the first time in a very long time that he had been close to crying for anything other than a beating. 

 

He grabs Peter Pan even though he’s practically got it memorized and lays back, reads in the light of the moon, wishing he could fly like Peter Pan, just lift himself into the sky and escape all his problems. 

 

She’s quiet when she comes up, he’s so engrossed in the book he doesn’t notice her until she’s almost in front of him. She doesn’t say anything about him being there, just curls up on the hay next to him, lays her little head on his shoulder and reads along with him. 

 

Eventually he hands her the book and she takes over, reading out loud to him. He closes his eyes and imagines the battle between Captain Hook and Peter Pan, heart aching at the thought that there’s a world where good prevails over evil. 

 

That’s never been his experience.

 

But at least here, with her and Neverland, he can pretend.

 

* * *

He’s 16 when his daddy beats him so bad he blacks out before it’s over. When he wakes up, the old man is passed out in his lazy-boy, drunk.  Hate ripples through him and as he gingerly changes his shirt to one that doesn’t have blood on it, he decides he can’t stay here, not tonight anyway.

 

So he packs up his backpack with a clean shirt and underwear, slings his crossbow across his back, and walks softly through the woods to the Greene farm. He’s worked less and less over the years, trying to stay in school when he can, and trying to keep his daddy outta jail. Merle’s been gone for a year now, left for the military when he got out of juvie, promising he’d come back. 

 

He doesn’t really believe that, doesn’t even try to hope for it. 

 

The moon is out, providing plenty of light for him to make it to the barn. He takes a few saddle blankets and crawls up into the hayloft, arranging some hay beneath the blankets before he lays down and pulls another over him. The smell of horse and sweat and manure fills his nose, but it’s a soft, warm smell that’s comforting. He’s been around JuneBug and Nellie for so long that the smell of shit doesn’t really bother him anymore. 

 

The November air is cool tonight and he wishes he had grabbed a sweater on his way out. Tugging the blanket around him a little tighter, he stiffens when he hears feet in the dirt below. Fear streaks through him at the idea that he could get caught, and he lies so still his muscles start to hurt from the tension. 

 

Daryl can hear the steps coming up the ladder and his heart is pounding in his throat. He closes his eyes, but as he does, he sees a shadow approaching. 

 

“Daryl?”

 

Something in his chest pangs when he exhales, and he realizes he’s been holding his breath. She must have heard it, because the sound of her approach is louder, and then she’s crouching next to him, moonlight making her hair look white. She stares at him with wide, blue eyes as clear as a summer day and gives him the sweetest smile before she’s shaking her head and looking at him with amusement that’s far too adult for her childish face. 

 

“Why dontcha come sleep in the house?” she offers. 

 

He shakes his head quickly; what if someone finds out? He doesn’t want to see that spark of pity in Hershel’s eyes like he does in everybody else's. 

 

She rolls her eyes at him and thinks for a minute before she’s standing, and walking away. Daryl’s stomach twists; did he finally manage to push her away? Has he lost his only friend because he’s a stubborn ass? 

 

He lays there, thinking about that for a long time, silently cursing himself and debating whether he should just go, and follow her into the house. But no, he can’t do that, because what if he gets caught? He’s already been to juvie too many times; he doesn’t want to end up in jail. 

 

As his mind is swirling with all these thoughts and a rush of emotions is making it hard to breathe, he hears steps once more. This time, when she comes up the ladder, he’s sitting up, waiting for her. 

 

She’s carrying something bulky under each arm, and as she gets closer he can see it’s a sleeping bag and pillow. Stopping at his feet, she lifts a brow and orders him to move. He only hesitates a moment before he’s standing up and shifting back. She works quickly, adjusting the saddle blankets, laying down the sleeping bag, tossing the pillow down too, and then she’s unzipping it and sliding inside. 

 

He stares at her, confused and hesitant. When she gives him a  _ look _ , he knows there’s going to be no argument about this. She’s managed to get him to do whatever it is she asks, all these years, and he’s not going to stop now. 

 

So, he slides in next to her and turns so his back is facing her. It’s silent and still for an eternity before she’s pressing herself against him, small arms winding around his waist and forehead pressing into his back. He winces as the cuts on his back throb, but doesn’t push her away or tell her to stop. 

 

As he drifts off to sleep, he hears her whisper  _ I love you Daryl Dixon _ , but isn’t sure it’s real. No one’s said it before, except his momma.

 

All he knows is that he’s never lonely when he’s with her, his little bird.

 

* * *

Merle does come back.

 

Daryl is nearly 18 when his older brother rides into town on a motorcycle, that shit eating grin of his plastered on his face. Daryl goes with him when he offers to take him someplace he’s been staying, and for the first time, he leaves that small town. 

 

They move from town to town, conning, theaving, drinking and whoring, until one day, they make it back to that small town. His brother does something stupid and gets thrown in jail. Daryl finds work in a garage and starts saving money to get Merle out. When he does get out, he drinks and drugs and whores the money away until there’s almost nothing left. 

 

Daryl sees her, Beth Greene, in the pharmacy across the street while he’s out with Merle, and his attention to her draws his older brother’s gaze. “Whooeee! You like little girls, huh Darylina?!” he crows, and Daryl cringes, hiding his face as people passing by scowl at them.

 

Eventually Merle gets in trouble again, and they leave, taking what little money Daryl’s been able to save with them. For the next six years, it’s more of the same, and with each year that passes, Daryl grows numb, silently aching for a quiet place to lay his head.

 

When word comes that their daddy has died, they go back. They cremate him and toss the ashes in the stream, curse him, and then get drunk. Merle doesn’t stick around long, but Daryl does. He gets that job back at the garage, and he starts making changes; he cleans the trailer and gets rid of anything his daddy ever owned. He buys a motorcycle, and it’s a work in progress, but each new part and thing he fixes fills him with pride. 

 

He sees Beth Greene too. 

 

She’s in the local paper, headlines gleefully proclaiming her as country music’s newest rising star. She’s only 18, and already she’s headed for the big times. 

 

For the next three years he keeps tabs on her. Listens to her music. Sees advertisements for her sold out concerts. Reads every article about her that he can get his hands on, and buys a smartphone so he can see her live videos on Instagram. 

 

Everything changes when a group of armed men break into her daddy’s house, looking for god knows what, and murder her daddy and momma. 

 

He watches when she announces on a live Instagram video that she’s going home to bury them, taking time off to grieve, heal. There’s a tightness in his throat as he watches her tear up, jaw trembling for a moment before it firms and she offers the camera a brave smile. 

 

He thinks that she looks different. It’s not just that she’s grown up, it’s that there’s a certain fierceness that he remembers living in her eyes, and somehow, it’s gone. It’s like she’s had some of that fire within her dimmed, diminished. 

 

When she comes back, everything changes. 


	2. Heaven Help Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have some Holes references and some more Peter Pan too! Songs for this chapter are: "Heaven Help Me" Emily Hearn and "Count On Me" NEEDTOBREATHE

Beth Greene has never been a woman afraid of the world. But when she walks into her childhood home and smells the bitter tang of blood, she is afraid. Her manager and her sister had both been adamant that she not come back, but she knew, it was where she needed to be.

****

The house is clean, and as she walks through it, she thinks that you wouldn’t know that two people were murdered here unless you had seen the crime scene photos. There’s a layer of dust on everything, and a slightly stale smell to the house.

****

Standing in the living room, she stares blankly around, her entire body filled with emptiness.

****

As it grows dark, she slips from the house, past the empty barn, and into the woods.

****

She doesn’t know where she’s trying to go, just following her feet wherever they take her. She remembers running and playing in these woods when she was little, led by a small boy with dirty skin and too long hair.

****

_Daryl_ she thinks longingly, wondering what’s happened to him.

****

Her path changes, and before she knows it, she’s in front of his trailer. Or what she thinks is his trailer. It’s been 13 years since she’s been over this way, so she can’t be too sure.

****

At least, she’s not sure until someone is pulling up on a motorcycle and when the outside light flicks on at the movement, she can see him clearly. He’s older, taller too. His arms are bare, and she can see how they’re corded with muscle and tanned like a nut. His movements are easy as he swings his leg over the seat and stands straight.

****

She hesitates and wonders if she should say something, shifting uneasily on her feet. A twig snaps beneath her foot and his head whips towards her, one hand going towards his waist where a large knife rests and it strikes her then, that he’s not just older, he’s dangerous.

****

Lifting her hands, she steps towards him, swallowing hard. “D-daryl?” she calls, voice cracking in her dry throat. He pauses, tilts his head like he’s thinking, and then nods slowly. She walks closer, into the light, and his gaze never leaves her.

****

“Beth.”

****

It’s not a question; she can tell he knows who she is from the way he says it. But she nods anyway, nervous.

****

“What ya doin over here girl?” he demands, voice low and rough and unwelcoming.

****

She swallows hard again, trying to wet her mouth so her voice doesn’t crack again. “I just...wanted…” she fumbles over her words-- _what does she want?_ He’s still staring at her, looming over her, and it makes her nervous. “I-I’m sorry, I should go,” she says, rushing out the words so they’re nearly incomprehensible.

****

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t stop her, but she can feel his gaze on her as she turns and practically runs away.

****

_Stupid stupid stupid_

****

She spends the night in her old bed, wide awake. Keeps picturing the look on his face as he stared down at her.

****

Was it anger? Surprise?

****

His face may be familiar to her, but she can’t read his emotions anymore like she could as a kid.

****

As the sun crawls over the horizon and her eyes grow heavy, she wonders if he’s happy to see her, like she is to see him.

****

* * *

It’s Sunday, so the garage is closing early, and Daryl wonders not for the first time if he should stop and see Beth. He’s not seen her since she appeared at his doorstep like a damn ghost, wide eyed and with that blonde hair that reminds him of the sun.

****

He debates it for so long he almost misses seeing her walking down the street. He’s just leaving the shop for the day, and as he locks the door, he sees her, walking up the street, head down, every line of her body taut with anxiety.  

****

People stare at her as she goes, whispering, but not saying anything _to_ her. It annoys him, the way they all look at her like she’s a car crash on the side of the road. Without really thinking, he’s following her, and when he’s only a few steps behind, he calls out her name in a low, husky voice.

****

She turns, eyes wide with fear for a moment before she sees it’s him, and then her lips are trembling into something like a smile. “Hey,” she whispers, turning her chin when more people stare. Her cheeks flush and he can hear her breathing unsteadily, and the anger in him boils up and over.

****

Whirling towards the people staring, whispering and taking photos, he glares, “Aint ya’ll got somethin better ta do?” he shouts, “Whatcha lookin at ya bunch of nosey pricks!” There’s a smattering of gasps and _well I nevers_ before people are turning away, hurrying along.

****

He sees a few men with big cameras shy back, hanging out by the five and dime store, and he realizes they must be paparazzi who followed her here from Nashville. Somehow this makes him even angrier. She might be famous, but she just lost her momma and daddy. She should be able to grieve without bystanders gawking at her pain like its some sick sideshow.

****

His thick fingers close around her arm, pulling her close as he propels them up the street. He can hear her panting breaths and glances down at her, brow furrowed in concern. “Ya all right?” he asks softly, watching her face as she nods and offers him a weak smile, “Yea,” she whispers, and he might not be the most in tune with other people’s emotions, but even _he_ knows that’s a bald faced lie.

****

Grunting softly, he peers around and frowns, “Where ya going girl?”

****

She sighs and shakes her head. “I just wanted to get some groceries. There isn’t much at the house,” she tells him, and he thinks how sweet and smooth her voice is. The country girl accent is long gone, smoothed out by years of school and the public eye.

****

Nodding, he glances pointedly at her empty hands and then jerks a thumb over his shoulder, “Store’s thataway,” he tells her, like she doesn’t know, and she just nods, nervously reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear.

****

“Yea, I uh, everyone was lookin at me,” she whispers and his gut twists with the raw, pained way it’s said. Glancing around once more, he huffs out a breath and then moves to stand between her and the people staring.

****

“Why don’t I go with ya?” he offers, and a part of him is wondering if he’s gone crazy, because Daryl Dixon doesn’t put himself in the public eye, not for _nothing_ . But it’s _Beth_ , and he’s never let her down before, so he’s not gonna start now.

****

She stares up at him, wide eyed, surprise making the spot between her brows furrow and the corner of her mouth pucker. He swipes a hand nervously at his hair, cringing when he realizes it’s sweaty and streaked with dirt and grease. He probably smells too, and he suddenly has the urge to turn tail and disappear.

****

But he doesn’t, because she smiles, and for the first time, it looks genuine. She nods and lifts a hand to wrap her tiny fingers around his bicep, squeezing it gently, “Thank you Daryl.”

****

He blushes and ducks his head, shrugging. “Come on, let’s get ya food.”

****

She follows along happily, her hand still wrapped around his arm, her hip bumping his occasionally and he has to take deep breaths and remind himself that this is okay, this touching with her like this is allowed. Has to remind himself that they were friends once, friends who went camping, swimming and horseback riding together, so her holding onto him isn’t anything earth shattering.

****

Except it _is_ because it’s not just his one time friend holding onto him, it’s Beth Greene, famous singer and celebrity who has paparazzi following her in their tiny ass town like she’s in Hollywood instead of on her way to the grocery store.

****

They’re moving through the store pretty quickly; Daryl is pushing the cart, leaning forward to watch her as she goes, pausing to read a label here, compare cereals there. Her lips twist into a frown as she thinks, holding two different types of laundry detergent before she sighs and tosses the lavender scented one in the cart.

****

He notices she’s only getting frozen meals, cereal, coffee and assorted snacks, and he has to wonder if she knows how to cook, or, given the situation, even wants to. When she adds a pint of ice cream to the cart, he snorts and shakes his head, ducking his chin as she looks up at him, mouth pursing in annoyance.

****

“What?”

****

He shakes his head, “Nothin. Just wonderin if ya like ta cook.”

****

When he looks back up at her she’s flushing, avoiding his gaze and twisting her fingers into the metal of the cart. “I don’t cook well,” she admits, glancing back up at him with a sheepish grin. “The best I can do is frozen meals and pop-tarts.”

****

He laughs this time, full and loud, and when he sees the amazed look on her face, he ducks his head to hide his blush behind the frame of his too long hair. Glancing back up at her, he shrugs, mouth quirking, “Could teach ya,” he offers, heart beating too fast in his chest while he waits for an answer.

****

“I-you wouldn’t mind?” she asks softly, and when he shakes his head, she bites her lip, appearing to think about it for a minute. He doesn’t push, just waits patiently for her to decide, watching the way her teeth gnaw at her lower lip and her fingers tap on the cart with tiny pinging noises.

****

Finally, she nods, grinning at him, and he’s smiling back before he realizes the expression crossing his face.

****

“A’ight, get rid a those frozen things,” he orders, waiting till they’re gone from the cart to start pushing it again. “Whatcha like ta eat?” he asks, scanning the packages of meat in front of them.

****

She’s the one to shrug this time, “I’m not real picky,” she tells him, rubbing her arms as the cold air from the frozen section washes over her. He glances at her sidelong and wonders if she’s one of those vegans all the celebrities supposedly are.

****

“Ya eat meat?” he queries, relief flashing through him when she nods. With this in mind he decided against buying any meat when he’s got a freezer full of game at home.

****

Instead, he picks up a couple of potatoes, some green beans, and loaf of crusty bread. He decided he’ll make deer steaks tonight and then maybe rabbit stew tomorrow. As he’s reaching for cans of beans he realizes he’s making plans for them, and stutters to a halt, fingers crushing against the can.

****

Beth looks up at him, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

****

He shakes his head and tosses the cans in the cart, “Nuthin. Just thinkin.”

****

“Bout what?”

****

He glanced at her as he walks further up the aisle, looking for those smoky canned tomatoes he likes so much. “Ya like rabbit?” he asks, sidestepping her question a little. He can pretend this was what he was thinking, instead of worrying about some nebulous future.

****

“I haven’t had it since we were kids,” she admits, a smile growing on her lips as she continues. “Remember when you taught me to snare em and dress em?”

****

Of course he does. How could he forget the pride in her eyes when she managed to kill and dress her first rabbit. His lips quirk in an approximation of a smile as he nods. “Ya were a quick learner,” he murmurs, coming back to the cart with more cans. He can see the way she’s flushed, looking embarrassed but pleased, and a blush rises on his face too.

****

They lapse in and out of conversation as they finish up, but it’s never really awkward, not like it might have been between two friends who haven’t seen each other in 10 years. He thinks if it were anyone else it would be.

****

When they finish up paying for the groceries and he’s loaded down with bags—she tried to take some but he shook her off with a _nah girl_ —he looks around the parking lot, brow furrowing. “Where ya parked?”

****

When she doesn’t respond he looks over at her and sees the chagrined look on her face. “Ya walked?” he guesses and when she nods and gives him a sheepish smile, he hides his smile and just nods. “A’ight. My bike’s over at tha shop, come on.”

****

He doesn’t look back to see if she’s following, but after a moment he hears her steps following him, her turquoise tipped boots clicking against the ground. He should have realized she walked; her boots are dusty and when he spares a glance at her he can see the pink to her forehead where the sun’s been kissing her skin.

****

His arms are just starting to ache when they turn round the corner and walk to the back of the shop where his bike is waiting. He loads up the saddlebags and gets on, turning to offer her his helmet—and he thinks that he’ll have to get her one if they’re gonna do this again.

****

She stares at him for a second before glancing at herself and waving a hand towards her sunny yellow dress skimming her thighs. He realizes the problem immediately and nods, “Tuck it under ya and keep yer legs tight against me,” he tells her, still holding out the helmet.

****

She hesitates for another moment and then nods, taking the helmet and clipping it on before she swings her leg over the bike and arranges herself against him. He can feel how slight she is, but when he starts the engine, her thighs press into his hips with more power than he figured she had.

****

He takes off slow, letting her get used to the feel of how the bike moves before he opens it up and they tear down the back roads. He can hear her laughing behind him, and he thinks maybe she’s saying something, but he can’t tell.

****

When they roll to a stop at his trailer he has a momentary flush of embarrassment; it’s small, old and rusted in places. It’s the only think of his daddy’s he’s kept, and it doesn’t sit right with him that he still lives here, but there’s not much to do about it now.

****

He feels Beth stand up and as she’s gathering the groceries, he’s standing and taking a few too; he can’t let her do all the hard work. He takes large steps to get ahead of her, unlocks the door and steps in to hold it open for her.

****

They move around, putting her ice cream in his freezer and the other stuff in the fridge. When they’re done he moves to head out to his smokehouse and then stops, wondering if she wants to come. He glanced back and finds her eyeing him, looking uncertain.

****

He jerks his head towards the door, “Come on, gonna show ya somethin,” he murmurs and she’s nodding and following him out the door and across the yard to a large wooden structure. He opens the door and the scent of cedar and smoke fills their noses.

****

He leads her till he’s found where he has the deer steaks dry curing and grabs a couple, turning to find her staring around with an impressed look. Her gaze meets his and she grins, “This is amazing Daryl,” she says and a flush fills his cheeks.

****

He’s proud of all the work he’s put into this place, but he never thought she’d like it. It’s the home of a dirty old redneck, nothing special he thinks.

****

When he shakes his head she steps closer and lays a hand on his arm, smiling softly. “It is.” His gaze meets hers hesitantly, and when she nods again and squeezes his arm, he allows himself a tiny smile.

****

She smiles wider and her fingers slide down his arm, twining their fingers together so she can tug him back towards his trailer and...he lets her.

****

He’s never held hands with a woman before. Not in any real, meaningful way, and that’s exactly how this feels.

****

Meaningful.

****

He shows her how to cut the meat, cook it on his tiny charcoal grill, smiling encouragingly when she glances up at him uncertainly from where she’s watching them cook, spatula in hand and a wary look to her eyes.

****

He ducks his head inside the trailer, grinning as he washes his hands. He takes the green beans and sautées them, using some of his own homemade spice mix to season them. He’d never thought he’d be good at cooking or enjoy it the way he does, but as he got older he found himself cooking more and more for him and his daddy, and somewhere along the way he figured if he was going to be cooking, it should be both filling and tasty.

****

Raw squirrel hadn’t been eaten in years and he imagines the horrified look on Beth’s face if she had ever seen him, mouth streaked with blood, looking exactly like what he is; a dirty redneck.

****

But then he thinks that isn’t fair; she’d seen him hunt squirrels as a kid, had learned for herself how to use his crossbow.

****

When he leans out the window to check on her, he can hear how she’s singing softly, hips swaying along. The setting sun is kissing her shoulders and hair, turning it into spun gold. Her dress is so light that the sun makes it nearly see through and he can see the curve of her ass, the ridges of her spine, the gentle flare of her hips.

****

He swallows hard, desire and embarrassment tangling together until he ducks back, hiding. He shouldn’t be looking at her like that; she’s a goddamn celebrity, untouchable and entirely out of his league. She’s not some local woman who he can leer at and buy a few drinks before he fucks her in the parking lot of the bar.

****

While he’s thinking all these things, Beth walks back in, plate filled with their steaks and foil wrapped potatoes. She gives him a triumphant grin, “Medium rare and fork tender!” she declares, lifting the plate to show him.

****

His lips quirk up at the corner and pride fills him as she grins up at him. “Good job girl,” he murmurs, pointing to the counter, hands busy with the green beans. “Why dontcha put em on plates. Beans is almost done,” he tells her before turning back to check them once more.

****

They’re done so he carries the pan over and slides some on their plates, sharing a soft smile with her when he comes back a moment later to stand beside her. She’s staring down at the food like it’s an enormous surprise, and when she looks up at him, she looks pleased.

****

“You did such a good job on dinner,” she tells him and he’s shaking his head before she’s even finished because no, _no,_ he’s not going to let her give him the credit.

****

“Nah girl, _you_ did that,” he tells her firmly, jaw set as she stares up at him for a moment before blushing and looking down.

****

She mumbles a thanks and he nods, pointing towards the door, “Let’s eat outside. Nice out,” he murmurs, leading her out to the cracked and unsteady lawn chairs he has beside his fire pit. She sinks into one with a giggle as it rocks, tilting sideways precariously. He tries to give her his chair, but she refuses, telling him she prefers this one.

****

They eat quietly, making soft, sparing conversation until their plates are empty and it’s full dusk, the sky purple and pink as the sun slips beneath the horizon.

****

It’s been quiet for some time when her voice breaks it softly.

****

“What happened to your daddy?”

****

He flinches, then freezes, struggling to find words. She’s not looking at him, so he take a few deep, steadying breaths before he can speak.

****

“Dead. Overdosed while he was in his truck,” he explains.

****

It’s exactly how he’d always expected the old man to go, honestly.

****

“I’m sorry.”

****

He snorts, “Why? I ain’t. He was a mean old drunken bastard who—” he stops abruptly, realizing what was going to slip out. _Who beat me bloody_.

****

She knows what he’s left unsaid though, she had seen his old man beating him, had seen the scars and still healing wounds and bruises when they went swimming. So he doesn’t know why he stops saying it now.

****

Maybe it’s because she looks like the Beth he knew, maybe a little older, but she’s _not_ the same girl. She’s older, quieter, sadder.

****

He wonders if it’s just because her momma and daddy died, or if she’s sad for some other reason he doesn’t know.

****

He doesn’t like her sad like this. Her eyes look washed out like she’s been crying for days, and when she moves there’s a slowness to it, like she’s weighed down with something so heavy it makes her bones hurt.

****

Daryl doesn’t like it at all.

****

“What about your brother?”

****

He hums thoughtfully, “Dunno. Been a few years since we seen each other or talked,” he admits. Last he heard his brother had joined a motorcycle club notorious for drug running and whoring.

****

“What about yer sister?” he asks in return; it’s suddenly occurred to him that there are _two_ Greene girls.

****

Beth makes a soft noise and when he looks over, she’s chewing her lip, shaking her head. “She’s at home with her husband and kids. Asked me to handle things.”

****

A noise of surprise rasps in his throat and he shakes his head; that’s not right he thinks. Sisters need each other, especially for things like this.

****

“Ya need any help with anything, jus ask,” he tells her, meeting her gaze when she looks up at him in surprise. She hesitates a moment and then nods slowly, a smile pulling at her lips.

****

They sit in silence until the fireflies are out, dancing through the night. When the mosquitos are eating them both alive he stand and waves toward his bike, “C’mon, I’ll take ya home.”

****

She nods and follows him once more onto the iron horse, thighs pressing into his hips and he can feel the heat of her between her legs pressing into his lower back and it’s...distracting.

****

Swallowing hard, he revs the engine and tears away, stomach flipping when she leans harder into him, her skin pressing warmly against him through his threadbare T-shirt.

****

The moon is rising higher in the sky as they rumble to a halt in front of the house, and it’s the first time he’s been here in years. It looks lonely he thinks, like ghosts are pressing on the glass, the shadows the only thing holding the walls up.

****

Beth stays on the bike behind him, staring up at the house for a long time.

****

“It’s so lonely,” she whispers, and the words brush along his neck, making him shiver.

****

“Ya got anywhere else ta stay?” he asks, worry gnawing at his stomach at how sad she sounds.

****

She shakes her head, he can feel it behind him even if he can’t see it and she sighs softly. “It’s fine.”

****

She gets off the bike abruptly and Daryl instantly misses the heat of her body. She hands the helmet back and smiles faintly at him, fingers fisting in the material of her dress.

****

“Thank you for saving me tonight,” she murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

****

He shakes his head, going to refute it when she lifts a hand and halts the action with the look on her face. “You did Daryl and I can’t thank you enough.” She sighs and glances back at the house for a minute, shoulders drooping before she turns back and gives him a weak smile.

****

“Night Daryl.”

****

She’s a few steps away, hands filled with grocery bags when he speaks up.

****

“Night little bird.”

****

* * *

She hasn’t heard that nickname since she was a kid. It makes her smile, even as her heart is heavy with sorrow as she walks back into what is now her house. She’s slow to unpack the groceries and when she’s done she’s just standing there in her momma’s kitchen, trying to remember a time when it was filled with light and laughter and love and not lonely silence.

****

She’s exhausted and the grief is gnawing back around her edges, so she climbs the stairs slowly and pulls off her sundress, kicks off her shoes, and crawls into bed, shivering beneath the covers.

****

Loneliness fills her, leaves her feeling empty and hollowed out, but she’s too tired to cry, so she just stares up at the ceiling, watching the light of the moon move across the room until the grey light of dawn is stretching inwards and she finally, finally falls asleep.

****

When she wakes up, the sun is slanting into her room sharply, and she can tell by how groggy she is that it’s well past when she normally sleeps. She lays there for a little while before she gets up and puts on her robe, feet bare and phone in hand as she heads downstairs to make coffee.

****

It brews fast, percolating out of the Keurig and teases her nose, the heady scent making her smile faintly. It’s warm out she realizes as she steps out onto the porch, surprising for the end of September, but it’s Georgia, so it never really gets cold the way it did in Nashville.

****

She sips her coffee slowly, staring out at the dead wheat fields and rotten fruit beneath the apple trees, the waste and death making her sick to her stomach. Her daddy would be ashamed to see his hard work being wasted like this. She should do something about it, but she doesn’t even know where to start.

****

She wonders if maybe she can ask Daryl what he thinks when her phone vibrates in her pocket and she’s sighing, mourning the loss of her quiet morning. Frowning at the lock screen, her stomach drops when she sees she has three missed calls from her manager and her sister, and two new text messages.

****

Opening the messages, she sighs when she sees the one from her sister is just a simple inquiry into how things are going and a question about what she wants to do for her birthday in six weeks. Beth’s can’t even think about that, can’t imagine a party or being happy, not when she’s standing in the place her momma and daddy died and the land she grew up loving is fading with the waning of fall.

****

She opens the text from her manager and frowns at it. _Who’s the hottie?!_ is followed by a link to a TMZ article with the headline **_Country Crooner Finds Love in a Time of Tragedy?_ **

****

Her stomach drops and plummets further when she opens it and begins reading. It’s sensational reporting, speculation that she’s dating someone here from town described as “ _a biker with muscles as big as Georgia’s Stone Mountain and a take no shit attitude that’s seemingly softened by everyone’s favorite country sweetheart.”_

****

There’s a picture of Daryl glaring at the paparazzi, and then below that, one of them in the grocery store looking at each other like... _something_ . She didn’t know she was looking at him like _that_ , didn’t know he was lookin _back_. They’re leaning in towards each other, smiling softly and affectionately and it makes something in her stomach twist.

****

Even here she can’t escape the prying eyes of the media when she’s just trying to survive, to get through this grief and loss without shattering. She locks the screen, the black of it reflecting her face; pinched and strained looking and she shoves the phone into her pocket, trying to put the article and those pictures out of her mind.

****

She straightens and squares her shoulders in determination. Today she’s going to go through the house and the farm and see what needs fixing, what needs trashing, and what’s worth saving. Nodding to herself, she turns back inside and heads upstairs to change.

****

Everything might be different now that momma and daddy are gone, but she’s still that same Beth, determination and grit straightening her spine when the whole world is piling on her.

****

* * *

Daryl keeps lookin at the clock above the roll doors, impatiently waiting for his shift to be over so he can get outta here. He wants to check on Beth, see how she’s doing, see if she needs anything.

****

It doesn’t occur to him to look at the news, or pay attention to the odd looks people in town have been giving him. He’s never been one to pay attention to other people and their nosy opinions, so it doesn’t even register that the whispers he’s been hearing all day are about him.

****

When he clocks out his buddy T-Dog grins and nudges him with an elbow, “Ya gonna go see your girlfriend?” he asks teasingly and for a moment Daryl’s frozen, wondering what the hell he’s talking about.

****

“What tha hell ya talking bout?” he demands, voice growling as he glares at T-Dog.

****

The other man grins and digs out his phone, fidgets with it for a few moments and then shoves it in his face, clearly waiting for a reaction.

****

The headline is lurid red and has at least three exclamation points, and he grabs the phone to read it quickly, heat rising in his cheeks when he sees what they’re saying bout him and her, sees the pictures that make it look like _that,_ but it’s _not,_ its _not_.

****

He tries to ignore the look on his face in the picture but it’s the one on hers that has his guts in knots and he’s shoving the phone away and practically running out to his bike, ignoring T-Dog’s teasing words as he makes his escape.

****

It’s only when he’s speeding down the windy country roads that his heart starts to steady out and he can even begin to think clearly. He doesn’t have Beth’s number, but he’s not sure what he would even say, so he discards that idea almost immediately.

****

He _does_ know where she’s staying and he hesitates before taking the next exit and turns his bike toward where he knows the farm is. When he pulls up in front of the house, he’s still not sure what he’s going to say, but the worries that have been chasing him the whole way here slip away when he sees her in the orchard, picking apples and peaches.

****

She’s in a pair of cutoff jeans shorts that creep high enough for him to see the curve of her ass as she stands on her tiptoes, reaching for a fruit that’s just out of her reach. Her yellow shirt is sleeveless and tied in a little bow at her waist, showing off a lean stomach and toned arms.

****

Hair like the sun is braided into a crown and when she turns to see who it is, lifting a hand to shield her eyes, he thinks he sees a flash of hesitation on her face before she’s waving and smiling.

****

He lifts a hand in return and before he can get off his bike she’s crouching down to lift a basket filled with fruit, propping it against her hip as she makes her way over.

****

She’s squinting into the sun when she stands beside him, and he can smell the sweetness of the peaches and the earthy, crisp scent of the apples too, and his stomach gives a loud rumble, reminding him he hasn’t eaten since his hastily thrown together breakfast of coffee, jerky and peanut butter straight outta the jar.

****

Grinning at the audible sound of his stomach, she steps closer and pops her hip so the basket is pushed out, “Hungry?” she teases, and something in him relaxes at her casual tone. Maybe she hasn’t seen the story.

****

He just nods and takes an apple, crunching into it with a small pleased sound at the back of his throat.

****

“Wasn’t expecting to see you today,” she admits, peering past him to where the aging barn is hanging open, “Figured you’d be busy at the shop,” she admits.

****

“Just closed up,” he replies around a mouthful of apple. She nods and blinks against the sun, her throat working as she searches for something to say. “Whatcha been up to round here?” he asks, saving her from coming up with a new topic of discussion.

****

She straightens and the basket of fruit sways, drawing his attention back to her curving hips for a lingering moment. “Picking fruit; daddy woulda hated to see it all dyin on the branch,” she tells him, “thought I’d make some preserves and give em to the food kitchen,” she says, looking at him like she’s waiting for him to say something.

****

“‘S a good idea,” he agrees, wiping his chin where the juice of the apple has dripped. Her gaze lingers on his mouth for a moment and then she’s glancing away, blushing into milky cheeks.

****

“I walked the fences, there’s a lot of repairs that need to be done, and the roof is starting to leak, the barn could use a fresh coat of paint, the hay is dyin in the fields,” she murmurs, sounding defeated by the numerous problems she’s discovered in what used to be her home.

****

She shakes her head, “Daddy was slowing down in the last few years, with fewer hands around to help with the harvest and his bad leg acting up more and more…” she trails off, face pinched and worried. Her eyes meet his again and his stomach hurts at the look in her eyes. He’s never seen her look so sad.

****

“The lawyers said daddy’s vet office would need to be sold to pay off the loans against it and the house would need to be repaired if I’m gonna sell it.”

****

He looks up at her in surprise, _she’s leavin?_ He feels stupid because after just a few days he’s grown used to her, hadn’t even thought that maybe she’d be leaving. She meets his gaze and sighs, shrugging, “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. But I’m staying till it’s all figured out,” she tells him, as though she could see the question in his eyes.

****

As he nods, a thought occurs to him. He’s slow to verbalize it, because what if she says no? Swallowing hard he meets her gaze evenly and unhinges his jaw to offer, “I could help ya out,” he waves a hand at the property at her confused look, “round here. Used to do it before,” he reminds her with a little quirk of his lips that’s almost a smirk.

****

He can see her thinking about it, something working behind those beautiful blue eyes until she nods slowly and smiles hesitantly. “If you’re sure you don’t mind,” she murmurs, smile widening when he nods. “I’ll pay ya for your time—”

****

He cuts her off with a shake of his head, “Nah girl, you ain’t gonna do that. Ya need help and I’m helpin. Save yer money for something else.”

****

Eyes wide, she looks positively befuddled for a moment before she’s nodding, smiling wider than before.

****

“Ok Mr. Dixon, you got a deal,” she proclaims, grinning as she sticks her hand out for him, and when his larger oil streaked and scarred paw wraps around hers, they both shiver at the electric feeling.

****

He nods and pulls his hand back and smiles faintly at her, their gazes flickering away and then back together, heat flushing both faces as the sweet floral scent of peaches fills the air between them.

****

* * *

He cuts back his hours at the shop to four days a week; Tyreese, the man who owns the shop is a little annoyed at first but when Daryl explains he’s helping out at the Greene farm, Tyreese tells him to take as much time as he needs.

****

Near everybody in town has a story about a time when Hershel helped them, whether it was helping a sick animal or giving folk jobs when they needed it, everyone had some connection with the old man and mourned deeply his loss.

****

Tyreese tells him how Hershel had helped nurse his pit bull Sunshine back to health after he first found her homeless and starving in the streets of Atlanta.

****

Daryl doesn’t share his story in return, but he’s grateful to the other man for giving him the time to help Beth.

****

He’s there early on his first day, before the sun is even up, because he wants to get as much done in the wheat fields as he can. As he’s driving the bailer towards the field, he sees a spark of blonde on the porch before he rounds the corner and it’s gone.

****

By the time the sun is reaching for the tops of the trees, he’s done the first field, neat bales of hay littering the ground. As he’s turning the large machinery towards the second field, he sees a figure walking his way, and when the sun glints off the gold of her hair, he knows it’s her.

****

He shuts off the tractor and opens the door, watches as she climbs up to stand on the small platform surrounding the cab, deft as a monkey, despite the fact she’s carrying a mug of coffee and something wrapped in foil.

****

She hands them over with a smile. “You got an early start,” she observes, “figured maybe you could use some breakfast.”

****

He takes a sip of coffee and his brows shoot up at how good it is. He imagines this is what that fancy shit you pay $6 for at Starbucks must taste like. “‘S good,” he murmurs, biting the inside of his cheek at the pleased smile on her face so he doesn’t beam back like an idiot.

****

“There’s pop tarts and an apple,” she tells him, pointing to the foil. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her he doesn’t really like the breakfast pastries; had em too much as a kid trying to survive to ever enjoy the taste again. So he just nods and reaches for the apple instead.

****

“What’re you gettin up to today?” he asks around a bite, juice sliding out of the corner of his mouth. Her eyes track it for a moment before they dart away, looking out at the golden field of wheat around them.

****

“Gonna go through the attic, see what’s broken and what should be kept.” There’s sorrow in her gaze and heartbreak in her voice and he reaches out without thinking, covers her hand with his where it rests on the doorframe. Her eyes dart back to find his, wide with surprise and then softening with something that looks a lot like affection.

****

He flushes when she smiles at him, but leaves his hand there for a few more moments before carefully retreating and reaching for the coffee. They don’t say much more, but when she turns to go, she pauses and looks back at him over her shoulder, “Thank you for helpin me Daryl,” she murmurs, eyes soft and warm.

****

Ducking his head under the weight of her gaze, he nods and shrugs, “No big deal,” he replies, wishing that were true. Because it is, to him. He remembers how she helped him, stood up to his daddy, taught him to read, made sure he ate and had a safe place to escape to...and he knows, with utter certainty, he’ll never be able to repay that.

****

“It’s a big deal to me,” she whispers and her hand covers his bicep, squeezing for just a breath before she’s climbing down and waking back to the house, leaving him breathless and nervous and elated all at once.

****

He watches her go, heart in his throat, and then turns his attention back to baling, though part of him is still thinking about how her fingers felt on his sun warmed skin; cool and strong and utterly right.

****

* * *

Three weeks pass and by now he knows that when he pulls up to the farm, Beth’ll be waiting for him with a cup of coffee and something for breakfast. It gets to the point that he stops eating anything before he leaves his trailer in the morning, even if what she gives him is usually no more than a pb&j or a bowl of cereal.

****

It’s better than nothin and he’d had a whole lot of nothin for years while his daddy was alive, so he’s not complaining one bit.

****

She’s started bringing him lunch too, finding him wherever he is on the farm and making him stop and take a break. They eat under the browning branches of the apple trees, a blanket of leaves beneath them that looks like copper and smells like dying things and more often than not they talk about everything and nothing at all.

****

He won’t deny how much he enjoys their lunches or the way his stomach sinks along with sun each time it’s heading for the horizon and he tells her he’s gotta go. He won’t even deny that the disappointment in her eyes makes his heart trip a little.

****

But he won’t say he’s falling for her.

****

At least not out loud.

****

* * *

Beth watches as Daryl shows her how to unclog the sink, large hands sure and almost delicate in their movements, and she’s entranced, wondering how such a large man can move so elegantly.

****

He glanced back over his shoulder and smiles faintly, “Yer turn,” he quips, handing over the wrench and sliding back so she has room to work.

****

She can feel his gaze on her and it makes her nervous, her hand slips and she curses as her knuckles scrape the piping. He moves quick, pulling it out so he can inspect her fingers, frowning at the scrapes and blood coming from one of the deeper cuts.

****

“It’s fine, I’m just clumsy,” she jokes, heat blooming under her skin where he’s still holding her hand.

****

He nods and his lips quirk as he pulls a handkerchief out to wipe away the blood. She tries not to wince at the sting, but he notices and gentles his touch further. She watches, amazed, as he pulls the first aid kit from under the sink, cleans the scrapes and then presses a band aid over the bloody knuckle—hands so gentle it makes her shiver.

****

His bright gaze meets hers, “All better,” he promised before he surprises her further and lifts her knuckles so he can brush his lips across them. Heat flashes in her stomach and their eyes meet, longing and desire filling the air between them.

****

Her lips part, whether to speak or to maybe lean forward and kiss him, it doesn’t matter because he’s dropping her hand like it burned him and he’s pushing his long limbs up and up until he’s standing over her looking for all the world like he’s gonna bolt.

****

He doesn’t though, he just stays back, directing her from a safe distance. When they’re done she’s proud of the fact that she can fix the sink now, thanks to him, but he’s still looking like an alley cat; suspicious and shy and afraid she’s gonna touch him.

****

It’s quiet as she washes her hands, peering out the window to see the sun is slipping below the horizon, the sky bruised purple and grey, and she tries not to think about the fact that he’s gonna leave soon. There’s also the fact that there’s little left for him to fix or help with, and she finds each time she watches him leave, it hurts a little more.

****

“I should ah,” he hesitates, and she turns around to smile at him, bright and fake, and it makes her sick to keep pushing these feelings down, to pretend like they’re just friends when she can’t honestly say what they are anymore.

****

“The fireplace hasn’t been cleaned in years and I’m worried it’ll cause a fire,” she blurts, flushing when he stares at her, brow furrowed for a moment before he nods and his lips twitch in that almost smile she’s so familiar with.

****

“I can fix that.”

****

It’s become a familiar refrain between them; she’ll name something broken and he’ll almost smile and say _I can fix that,_ looking at her like _that_ , and she wonders if she said _my heart is broken_ if he’d smile and tell her _I can fix that_ because she thinks maybe he could.

****

But she’s not that brave.

****

So she just nods and smiles at him, fidgeting with the handkerchief he had given her before she realizes she still has it and tries to offer it back, only for him to shake his head, “Nah, ya bled on it, makes it yers,” he tells her with a faint smirk.

****

She laughs at that and they share a smile and she’s wondering if she can get him to stay when she hears the grit of tires on dirt outside and they both look out the window to see a fancy black BMW approaching the house.

****

She hurries outside, Daryl at her back, stomach sinking when she recognizes the person behind the wheel. She watches as Maggie and her husband emerge from the car, looking around like they’re tourists and she didn’t grow up here too and for a second she’s angry, angry enough to see red. She wonders what the hell Maggie is doing here when she so clearly didn’t want to have anything to do with the property after daddy died.

****

Their eyes meet across the front yard, and Beth can feel Daryl take a step closer, his shoulder nudging hers as he asks quietly, “You expectin company?”

****

Tearing her gaze away from Maggie, she shakes her head, “It’s my sister, it’s okay,” she whispers, even though it’s not. It hasn’t been ok since mamma and daddy died two months ago, and it’s not ok now.

****

His brow furrows and he casts a look towards the waiting couple before he turns his piercing gaze back to her, “Want me ta stay?” he offers, waiting for her to shake her head before he nods and takes her hand in his, squeezes it gently and slips away into the twilight.

****

She can see him casting an assessing gaze over Maggie and Glenn before he’s climbing on his motorcycle, the engine loud as he disappears down the drive in a trail of dust.

****

She watches him go until she can’t see the taillights anymore, an emptiness filling her skin that makes her stomach hurt and her heart ache.

****

_I’m so broken Daryl_ she imagines telling him.

****

_I can fix that_


	3. Can’t Go on Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter are: “I can’t go on without you” kaleo and “never fade away” oh gravity. 
> 
> I’m so sorry, but there’s gonna be a lot of angst before this resolves with anything remotely resembling a happy ending. Hang in there and keep commenting!! I love y’all and your amazing comments, they totally make my day!!

He hates that he has to spend the whole week away from her. It doesn’t matter that he spends more time with her on the weekends than he’s ever spent with anyone else, the guys from the shop notwithstanding. 

 

He tries to tell himself he doesn’t miss her, that everything is ok, and then he remembers the look on her face when her sister appeared in the twilight like a ghost from the past. It’s only Tuesday but he’s antsy, snapping at the guys at the shop for nothing, and when he sees a photographer following him, he snaps, shouts and threatens the man, raises his fist like he’s gonna throw it, and before he knows it all the gossip mags are screaming he’s a dangerous man and questioning if Beth knows the  _ real _ man she’s dating.

 

He hates it all. 

 

So when his phone vibrates and he sees it’s her texting him, his heart speeds up. 

 

**_Maggie wants to meet you. Will you come have dinner with me tonight?_ **

 

It’s a simple request, even a logical one; Maggie hasn’t seen him since they were kids, and now that his face and fists are being talked about in all the gossip, she’s probably wondering just who he is to her sister. So he shoves aside his extreme discomfort at the thought of being the center of attention and replies back.

 

_ Sure. What time? _

 

**_6pm?_ **

 

He frowns; his shift doesn’t end till 6, he’d be late and greasy and sweaty if he agrees. Chewing his lip, he texts back. 

 

_ My shift doesn’t end till 6. I gotta shower, what about 6:45?  _

 

He builds in a little time for him to panic about this when he gets home, already feeling it creep in around the edges. 

 

**_That’s perfect. Thank you so much Daryl. I owe you._ **

 

_ Nah girl, you don’t. _

 

**_Sure I do. Listen, I gotta go, Maggie needs me. I’ll see you tonight. Thanks again_ **

 

He stared down at her words;  **_sure I do_ ** , like it’s so obvious that someone like her should owe a dirty redneck like him  _ anything. _ If anyone is owed in this relationship, it’s her. She saved him. More than once. 

 

Tyreese is calling his name, shaking him out of the daze he’s in and he just nods, goes back to work, slowly counting down the hours till he’s done. 

 

Till he gets to see her. 

 

* * *

 

Beth is trying not to pace or drink too much. It’s almost 6:45 and Daryl isn’t there yet. She thinks he wouldn’t stand her up without a good reason and an apology, but she knows what she’s asking is a lot. 

 

Grimacing, she stares at her reflection, wondering not for the first time if she’s too dressed up. It’s laughably casual compared to what she’d be wearing if they were in Nashville, but here, it’s just not...right. 

 

Hurrying up the stairs, she rips off the pink dress with too much tulle and grabs a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knees and thighs and buttons up a flannel shirt, tying it in a knot at her waist so a slim strip of skin is showing. 

 

Maggie had insisted on curling her hair and she thinks that it looks okay, if a bit stiff. Flipping her head over, she shakes it out, rubbing her fingers through it until she’s dizzy and pink in the face when she dips back up. 

 

The rumble of an engine makes her pulse skip and before she’s even thinking about it she’s running downstairs and out onto the patio, heedless of her bare feet. 

 

As she’s tripping down the stairs Daryl is swinging off his bike. His lips twitch into that almost smile she loves as he hangs his helmet from the handlebars and she’s by his side before she even has time to come up with anything to say. 

 

Surprising them both she reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing it tight for a moment, “Hi,” she whispers, feeling the heat rush into her cheeks as his gaze runs over her slowly, taking in the soft curves of her breasts, the taut skin of her belly and the bare feet that are now dusty.

 

Something like a real smile curls his lips and he squeezes her hand back, eyes warm when they meet hers. “Hi,” he murmurs back. 

 

They stand there staring at each other, still holding hands, until the screen door screeches and then bangs. His eyes flick over her shoulder to find Maggie on the porch, wine glass in hand, taut smile in place. 

 

Beth doesn’t look over her shoulder, doesn’t need to, she can feel his anxiety in the way his hand tightens around hers. When she turns to pull him towards the house, he resists and she turns, watches as he opens his saddlebag and pulls out a bundle of sunflowers. 

 

She’s smiling before he even says anything, but when he hands them over he looks nervous, uncertain. 

 

“Wasn’t sure if ya liked em, but they were uh, my mom’s favorite,” he explains quietly and she remembers distantly how his momma had died when she was little. No one had talked about it much, but the implication had been that she had killed herself. 

 

To Beth’s deeply religious family, it was a taboo topic. 

 

She reaches for them and then, on impulse, rises to her toes and leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. He ducks his head when she sinks back downs and she thinks she can see a flush to his cheek, but decides it’s not worth it to say anything and possibly embarrass him further. 

 

She takes his hand again and leads him up the porch to where Maggie is still watching them, bright eyes astute as they sweep over their joined hands and the flowers. 

 

Maggie smiles and extends a hand to Daryl, “Mr. Dixon, I’ve heard a lot about you,” she says politely, pointedly. 

 

Daryl huffs out a sound that’s almost a laugh, “Jus Daryl,” he tells her, “Nobody calls me Mr. Dixon.”

 

Beth nudges his arm with her elbow and they share a look, both of them knowing full well she’s the only one who calls him that. 

 

Maggie doesn’t comment on the look, just keeps up a polite stream of chatter as they move inside and join her husband. Dinner is polite, and Daryl has to remember to use his napkin instead of wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

 

He learns that Maggie is an interior decorator and Glenn owns a chain of pizza stores in the Nashville and surrounding area. He learns that it’s been six months since Beth wrote a song, and that her manager has been hounding both Maggie and Beth for something to show she’s producing like her contract says she will. He learns that she’s got a niece and a nephew, and when she shows him pictures he almost lifts a hand to touch the screen, thinking out loud how much the little girl looks like Beth. 

 

As dinner is winding down, Maggie takes a sip of her wine and eyes him in a way that brings back all the nerves he had managed to overcome earlier in the evening. “So Daryl, are you my sister’s boyfriend?” she asks, lifting a brow pointedly.

 

“Maggie! I told ya to leave it alone!” 

 

The sisters share a heated look and Maggie shakes her head, “Well the gossip mags aren’t leavin it alone! I think it’s only fair to ask since he’s been hanging around so much.”

 

Beth’s hands have curled into fists in her lap and Daryl can sense the anger vibrating off her. “He’s been helpin me around the farm! Like I told you! Which you’d know if you actually cared anything about our home!”

 

Maggie flinches and her brow creases, “That’s not fair Beth! I told you it wasn’t a good time for us to come up here!”

 

Beth scoffs and slams her chair back, rising to her feet with a disdainful look, “It’s never a good time Maggie, not ‘less it’s about you and what  _ you  _ need,” she spits before turning to look at him, electricity sparking in her gaze. “Thank you for comin to dinner Daryl, why don’t I walk ya out?” 

 

He nods hastily and rises to follow her outside, watching as she paces in front of his bike, eyes bright with unshed angry tears. His hands clench nervously; he’s never known how to comfort a crying woman. 

 

Suddenly she stops and stares at him, eyes pleading. “Can we go somewhere?” she asks, voice quavering in a way that makes his heart clench. “Please, just, anywhere,” she whispers, hands balling into fists at her sides. 

 

He’s nodding before he can really think about it and she’s darting back to the porch to grab a pair of boots that are dirty and worn, hastily shoving them on her bare feet before she’s climbing on the back of the bike behind him. 

 

The engine is loud and when he glances back at the house he can see Maggie watching them from the porch, figure forlorn and shadowed. They tear away from the farm in a haze of dust and cold air whipping past them. 

 

He can feel her press into him harder, trying to stay warm. He slows their breakneck pace slightly and her arms relax around his waist. He’s decided to take her to his favorite place; the bike climbs the rolling hills easily until they’re at the crest of a cliff, looking down on an untouched valley, the darkness nearly overwhelming. 

 

When they stop, he gives her a moment to slip her arms from around him so he can stand and dig out his old poncho for her to wear. He surprises both of them by offering her his hand, a ripple of pleasure filling him when she takes it, a faint smile curling her soft pink lips. 

 

He leads her away from the road, picking carefully through the forest until they break out onto the shale outcropping that is just barely visible from the road. He sits against the base of a tree and spreads his legs, watching as she glances around and then sits right between them, curls into him with her head tucked beneath his chin. 

 

He’s stiff for a few long moments and then his arm is curling around her shoulders and his nose is burying into her hair. She smells like sunshine and country air, something that fills his lungs and makes his head feel clear and free. 

 

They sit in silence for a long time; he’s completely unwilling to push her to talk and break this spell surrounding them. His thumb makes slow circles against the skin of her neck and he can feel it when she shivers occasionally. 

 

“Ya warm enough?” he asks hesitantly because as much as he doesn’t want to disrupt the quiet, he doesn’t want her to be uncomfortable even more. 

 

She shakes her head minutely and sighs, “‘M fine,” she whispers, and he thinks she sounds anything but  _ fine _ . There’s a long moment of silence and she sighs again, heavier this time. “When momma and daddy died, we were so close, taking care of everything together. I never felt alone,” she whispers. 

 

It breaks his heart that she thinks she’s alone, especially given how she’s made him feel more alive and happy than he’s ever been. His arm tightens around her, hoping it’s as comforting as he intends it to be. 

 

“But now, now she doesn’t want anything to do with the farm. It’s like she’s tryin to forget all about daddy and momma and the life we had.”

 

She makes a soft, broken noise and he realizes she’s trying not to cry and it rips his guts apart to hear it. He presses his lips to her hair and holds her tight, letting her cry out her sorrow and anger and grief until she’s limp in his arms, sniffling and wiping at her cheeks. 

 

When she pulls away to smile hesitantly at him, his stomach lurches at the utterly heartbreaking look on her face. “Do you think I’m overreacting?” she asks nervously, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. 

 

He only had one good shirt, a black button down that he had found for sale at Walmart a few years ago and had never worn. He’d worn his nicest jeans tonight, the ones without grease or tears in them, and it had occurred to him that he was acting like tonight was a date. 

 

Not that he knew much about dating.

 

“Nah, I think yer allowed ta be mad when you’re grieving,” he tells her. “Ain’t easy for anybody.” He peers at her for a second and then glances away, “When my momma died, I wasn’t even there. Out playin with the neighbors and heard the sirens. When they turned the corner, I got this real sick feeling.”

 

He doesn’t like talking about it, but he keeps going, knowing she needs to hear it. “Weren’t much they could do. She’d fell asleep from tha oxy and moonshine an her cigarette caught the house on fire. Merle said I shoulda been with her. Shouldn’ta been playin like a little kid.” 

 

He meets her gaze again, “weren’t nothin I coulda done ta stop her though. Took awhile to figure it out. She didn’t want ta live, not anymore.”

 

Beth’s eyes are bright as she stares at him, compassion and sorrow deepen her eyes to a nearly twilight blue in the darkness. Her hand finds his and squeezes hard, gasping softly when he grips back, hard. 

 

He ducks his chin to get a reprieve from looking at her and speaks again. “Ya shouldn’t blame yerself for not being here. Ain’t nothing either of ya coulda done.” 

 

Beth just stares at him, heart wrung out in her chest from how much this man makes her  _ feel.  _ She didn’t know it was possible to grieve and rejoice at the same time, but she is, and it  _ hurts. _ Hurts like a three day old bruise getting poked; achy and sore and sweet. 

 

They hold hands for awhile, just sitting in the dark until she’s shivering, even in the poncho, and then Daryl is pulling her up with a frown. “Come on girl, gotta get ya home fore ya freeze ta death.”

 

She keeps ahold of his hand, only letting go when she has to, replacing that firm hold for one around his waist. He can feel her heart beating against his back, steady and strong as they wind through the countryside. 

 

When they pull up at the farm, he can see the fancy car is gone and the only light burning is by the front door. He’d be worried, but Beth just sighs heavily and tells him, “They must’ve gone back to their hotel.”

 

She’s off the bike and standing next to him, looking uncertain for a moment before she rubs a hand over her neck and smiles faintly, “You wanna come in for a drink?”

 

He’d say no, isn’t much of a drinker, but she’s got this look in her eye like she doesn’t want to be alone with her thoughts and he knows what that’s like, so he nods and gets up and follows her into the house.

 

It feels awkward to stand there and watch her get him a drink, but he doesn’t want to get in her way. She hands him a cup with a few fingers of whiskey and two ice cubes, a wine glass in her hand as she leads him to the living room. She takes a seat at the old, worn piano, fingers brushing the yellowed keys without pressing down. 

 

“Will ya sing something?” he asks without thinking, berates himself for it when her shoulders stiffen and she hesitates. “Ya don’t have ta, it’s just been awhile since I heard ya,” he tells her quietly. 

 

She seems to think about it for a minute before she’s nodding and setting her glass aside. Her fingers hover over the keys for a long time before she speaks up. “Do you know what song ya want?” 

 

He thinks about it for a minute and then nods, “Ya know  _ Can’t Go On Without You _ by Kaleo?”

 

She shoots him a look over her shoulder and then nods slow, eyes unfathomable as she blinks at him. Turning her gaze back to the keys, she hums a few bars before she starts. 

 

_ Well they thought they were made for each other _ __  
_ One thinking of one another _ __  
_ Never thinking just for one second _ _  
_ __ She would take a different attraction

 

_ We don't want that _ __  
_ We don't want that _ __  
_ We don't want that _ _  
_ __ Oh no

 

_ We don't want that _ __  
_ We don't want that _ __  
_ We don't want that _ _  
_ __ Oh no

 

He joins her on the next line, voice soft and uncertain. 

 

_ I can't go on without you _ __  
_ I can't go on without you _ __  
_ Can't go on without you, yeah _ _  
_ __ I can't go on without you

 

He shifts so he can see her face in the dim light, watching how she hums and draws out wistful sounds from the piano before she’s singing again. 

 

_ Oh so, what's the point of breaking my sweet heart? _ __  
_ She wanted me to let down my guard _ __  
_ Well, you know what they say, it's better that way _ __  
_ So, so you better hush and walk away _ __  
  


She glances up when he sings along, louder this time, and her gaze holds his as they continue together, his deep voice like soft velvet against her light ethereal one. 

 

As they’re singing the last verse, his stomach wrenches at the way she looks; eyes closed, heart pouring into every word, singing like a bird. 

 

_ Oh so what is left but a broken man? _ __  
_ 'Cause nothing hurts like a woman can _ __  
  


Christ, ain’t that the truth. 

 

_ I can't go on without you _ __  
_ I can't go on without you, oh yeah _ __  
_ Can't go on without you _ __  
_ I can't go on without you, oh _ __  
_ Oh without you lord, without you _ __  
_ Without you babe, without you _ _  
_ __ Oh lord, you

 

Her fingers dance over the keys, drawing out the mournful, heartbreaking tune before she lets it slip away into an aching, lonely quiet. She sits at the keys without moving for a long time before she speaks and he wonders if maybe he’s made her more upset.

 

“I haven’t sung since...since they died,” she whispers, turning to face him, her hands tucking into her lap. 

 

“I’m sorry—”

 

“No, it, it’s  _ good _ Daryl. It made me feel again. Feel like I  _ could _ and it would be okay.” She smiles warmly at him, “Thank you.” When he doesn’t do more than flush and look away, she smiles and reaches out to touch his arm, drawing his gaze back. “You have a great voice. Maybe we could sing together again?” she offers, eyes bright with something he can't quite name, voice hopeful. 

 

He hesitates, and then nods. The grin that lights up her face is almost enough to dispel the discomfort he has with being the point of her focus, and if he can do something to make her smile like that, he will. 

 

She suddenly stands and stares up at him, tiny and blonde and sweet, and his heart thumps in his chest at the look in her eye. 

 

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to go back,” she whispers, like it’s a secret. Her eyes are wide and blue, like the wings of a blue jay, wondering and searching. 

 

“Don’t,” he tells her, “stay.”

 

It’s the closest they’ve come to talking about her inevitable departure and he can see the surprise in her eyes at his response. 

 

“If ya ain’t happy there, don’t go back.”

 

She frowns and gives a short shake of her head, “I-I’d be lettin a whole bunch of people down,” she tells him uncertainly. 

 

He snorts and shakes his head, “Girl, when was tha last time ya did somethin for yerself?” he asks, voice gruff but still gentle. Her brow furrows as she contemplates his question and his heart lurches at the thought she might agree, might stay. 

 

“If ya ain’t happy there, why go back?” he murmurs, watching as she bites her lip and stares up at him curiously. 

 

“I-I…” she trails off, looking small and confused and sad, and his heart clenches, regret flooding him that he’s upset her. 

 

Before he can really think about it, he’s pulling her against him, his arms winding around her torso to pull her even closer. 

 

“M’sorry Beth, I didn’t mean ta upset ya,” he murmurs intently, pulse pounding in his veins as anxiety ricochets through him. If he’s hurt her...god he can’t even think about that, it makes his stomach lurch unpleasantly and something in his chest twinge. 

 

She’s silent for a long time before sighing and giving a minute shake of her head. “‘S okay, wasn’t you,” she whispers. “I just...feel like I’ve been broken and worn down...like somethin inside me is damaged.”

 

“It hurts all the time,” she admits and then she’s peering up at him, a curious and intent look on her face as she clings to the front of his shirt. Her hair is curled and soft around her face and the moonlight on her skin makes her look like one of those statues he’s seen in museums. 

 

His head tilts to the side as he stares back, watching the way the light plays on her face with the shadows. 

 

“Where’s it hurt?” 

 

Her brow furrows and he takes a steadying breath before tangling their fingers together and lifting them so he can hold it at his lips. 

 

“Here?” he asks, brushing his lips against the skin of her knuckles. 

 

She gasps softly and shakes her head, eyes wide as she stares up at him.

 

He has no idea what’s possessed him, maybe it’s the whiskey or the moonlight, but more likely, it’s just  _ her.  _

 

He flips her wrist over and presses his lips to her pulse, thrumming beneath the thin barrier of her skin. 

 

“Here?” he whispers, eyes steady on her face as she breathes unsteadily, pupils eating up the cornflower blue of her eyes. He can see her throat working hard and leans in till his nose is brushing hers, his lips hovering just over hers. 

 

He doesn’t know where this bravery is coming from, but he’s not going to question it, not now anyway. 

 

Lifting his fingers to curl around her jaw, his thumb strokes her lower lip, warm and wet temptation lingering just behind it. 

 

“Here?”

 

They’re both breathing unsteadily now and his pulse is beating so hard he can hear it in his ears, can feel the adrenaline shivering through his body as she trembles against him. 

 

Beth barely shakes her head before she’s reaching up to wrap her fingers around his wrist and guides it down to her sternum. She presses and his palm splays against the smooth skin of her chest, right above the frantic beating of her heart. 

 

“There,” she answers him, breathless and wide eyed. 

 

“I can fix that,” he whispers and the smile that breaks out on her face stuns him with its brilliance. Her fingers grip his wrist even harder and before he even realizes what’s happening, she’s rising onto her toes and pressing her lips against his. 

 

He’s heard of people seeing fireworks or feeling sparks when they kiss someone, but he’s never really believed in romantic bullshit like that...until now.

 

Now brilliant shards of light dance behind his eyelids and lightning licks up his spine and his lungs feel like they’re on fire. Everywhere they’re connected makes him hungry for more, and he wants her more than his lungs need air, and it’s dangerous, this feeling, but he chases it with both hands. 

 

It’s like she’s awoken him, set fire to his world and danced in the ashes, and he doesn’t care if she ruins him because it would be the greatest honor of his life to be loved by her, no matter how badly it ends. 

 

He loves her dangerously, if she’s the fire he’s the gasoline and he wants to  _ burn _ . 

 

Her fingers knot in the material of his shirt, hauling her closer as his arms wind around her waist and pin her lithe body to him. She’s making these little noises in the back of her throat and her hips are arching into him as her hands cling to him, desperate and hungry in his arms, and he’s losing himself a little in her, with each kiss and touch and breath.

 

When she finally pulls her lips from his they’re both panting for air, and he rests his forehead against hers, trying to control his breathing and his heart because he’s worried it might just pound right out of his chest and fall at her feet.

 

Beth smiles faintly, fingers twining through his hair and gently scrapes her nails over his scalp while they hold each other and just breathe. When her lips find his again, it’s softer this time; slow and sweet like honey on a hot Georgia day. 

 

A bright light flashes, again and again and they’re startling apart, eyes wide and confused. He whirls towards the window and growls at the sight of a trio of paparazzi on the porch, cameras flashing over and over again. 

 

“Oh god…”

 

Beth’s soft exclamation pulls his attention to her and his stomach burns with rage at the scared, wide eyed look on her face. With a rumble of rage, he storms towards the front door, the wood banging against the wall as he throws the screen door open with a screech of the hinges. 

 

In a flurry of movement he’s advancing on the photographers, cursing loudly and yelling at them to get off the porch and off the property before he makes em. They continue taking pictures, stumbling back as he storms forward, hands balled into fists, ready to fly loose if they don’t move quick enough. 

 

Distantly he hears footsteps behind him and then a small hand is clutching his bicep, pulling at him till he looks down and sees Beth staring up at him, wide eyed with worry. They both watch the taillights of the car speed away, taking the intruders with them. 

 

All that’s left is the silence of the countryside and a thickness in the air between them, ripe with anxiety and anger and hurt. 

 

They stand that way till she shivers and he pulls away, casting his glance aside, refusing to meet her gaze and see the disappointment there. 

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispers. “They’ll say awful things about you now,” she tells him, and it burns into him, this realization that he’s made her life harder, that she must think he’s a violent man. 

 

When her hand lands on his arm again he twitches away, a move of self preservation because he knows if she touches him, he’ll give her anything, and in the end, he’s just not worth her time. That should be painfully obvious by now. 

 

“ _ Daryl…” _

 

The hurt in the way she says his name makes him sick, and when he dares a look down at her, the pain and confusion in her eyes makes something in his chest compress until he feels cracks spiraling outward, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. 

 

Her eyes shine with emotion and her throat works for a minute before she nods and glances away, “I’ll see you later,” she whispers and some part of him is grateful that she’s dismissing him, because he’s not sure he has the strength to walk away otherwise. 

 

He does though. 

 

His boots move slow, first one step, then another, and another till he’s back at his bike, hands numb so he fumbles the helmet before it’s on and the engine is roaring and he’s flying down the roads at breakneck speeds and his eyes are burning, blurring, and his heart, it’s  _ breaking _ . 

 

_ Nothing hurts like a woman can _


	4. Walking Away

He debates going to see her for days, but his phone remains damningly silent and he’s angry with himself over how much that hurts. Angry with her for not calling. Angry with himself for not fighting for her. He doesn’t have the words to make her understand how much he wants her, how scared he is he ain’t good enough for her, how he imagines spending the rest of his life with her. 

 

So he avoids her and anything that represents her; ignores the internet to keep from seeing her, turns the station when her sweet angelic voice plays, considers burying his head in goddamn sand if it’ll help, but it doesn’t, because even though she’s gone back to Nashville, the damn paparazzi linger, taking photos and trying to talk to him. 

 

They’ve learned to keep a healthy distance if they don’t wanna be on the receiving end of his fists or shotgun, his defense of his meager privacy unyielding and furious. 

 

He goes to work, buries himself in rusted radiators and timing belts and comes home exhausted, grease smeared and lonelier than he’s been in decades. His chest aches with each breath he takes and even being out in the woods, hunting in the quiet doesn’t make it any better(doesn’t make it worse, but still, not better either). If anything it gives him time with his thoughts; thoughts of how he hurt her, how he wasn’t ever good enough for her, how he ran like a goddamn coward instead of fighting for her. 

 

He loves her.

 

He admits it freely now, now that there’s nothing to lose, now that it’s all gone. He’s loved her since they were kids, since they were friends and she rescued him from his demon of a father and taught him to fly, high into the sky—up, up, away. His own personal Peter Pan carrying him to Neverland.

 

She’s branded his heart as her own, the shape of her fingers burned into his flesh where only he can feel it, the claim no less strong for its invisibility. She’s colored every inch of his soul, made him dream of things he’d never thought of before.

 

Family, love, hope...it was never in the cards for a dirty redneck like him, and now it’s all washed away. 

 

She’s gone, and he can’t fix it. 

 

* * *

 

He’s working on his bike when he hears an engine roaring through the woods, drawing closer with each moment. He stands, reaches for the shotgun, ready to run off any paparazzi that haven’t gotten the message yet, but it’s not paparazzi that emerge from the dense forest. 

 

His heart lurches and his hands tighten on the weapon as his big brother grins at him, engine idling between his legs. The silence that follows the death of the engine is loud, heavy with possibility as the two men stare each other down, assessing all the changes wrought in nearly five years. 

 

Merle looks old and haggard, for all he’s only two years older than him; deep lines cut into his face and his lips have a tendency to curl down into a scowl more than they do a smile, but it’s his eyes that look the most different Daryl thinks.

 

They’re hooded and circled by dark bags, an exhausted, angry look deep in their recesses. 

 

After a few long moments he lowers the gun slowly, nods, and turns toward the trailer, already knowing his brother’ll want a cold beer. By the time he steps back outside with a beer for each of them, Merle is standing over Daryl’s bike, critically eyeing his handiwork. 

 

“Looks pretty good Darylina! Ya’lways had an eye fer fixin shit,” he compliments, cracking open the beer and chugging it down in three long pulls. His gasp of satisfaction is loud in the quiet and it makes Daryl twitch a little. He’s grown used to the silence, learned how not to think too loudly so he can just...exist. 

 

“Saw a picture of ya kissing that pretty little girl, that singer?” Merle crows, laughing loudly at the discomfort on his brothers’ face. “Who knew ya had it in ya?!” He slaps a hand against Daryl’s back and grins, “I always thought you was a fairy!”

 

Daryl jerks away, jaw tightening as he shakes his head and fights back a growl of annoyance. “It ain’t like that,” he grunts, “she ain’t, we ain’t... _ it ain’t like that _ ,” he reiterates, nearly choking on the words because it  _ is _ like that, at least for him. 

 

“Yea? Jus a hit it and quit it type a deal?” Merle probes laughingly and Daryl just wants it to stop. He wants his quiet back. 

 

“Nah. Jus...jus leave it,” he mutters before covering his motorcycle with a tarp and heading in the trailer. Merle curses and follows along behind, still talking too much, too loud, too...everything. 

 

Daryl sits on the couch as Merle regales him with stories of his life, nodding along even though he’s not really listening, drinking beer after beer until he passes out, Merle still talking. 

 

The silence of sleep is blissful. 

 

* * *

 

A week passes and Merle’s still there, sleeping on his couch and drinking his beer and ruining the silence that Daryl didn’t know he had come to treasure. Daryl manages to get him a few shifts at the garage, promising Tyreese that he’s just as good with engines and machinery as Daryl is, but deep down he already knows how this is gonna go.

 

Merle works three shifts before he’s gettin in trouble for being high and gettin into arguments with the customers and when Tyreese fires him, Daryl has to step in to prevent his brother from attacking the bigger man. 

 

Things are said and Daryl finds himself cringing away from Merle, wondering how he ever looked up to a man who can hate so hard. It occurs to him then that Merle is a lot like their daddy; blames everyone else for his problems, drinks and whores and fights until he’s spiraling into a new low, and Daryl is just...tired. 

 

He hunts and spends all his free time in the woods, searching out that silence that was always too loud but at least it gave him a place to think, to just  _ be. _

 

The days are shorter and the air is colder and he’s still wandering the woods, but this time, his feet carry him over to the farm and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s climbing up into the hayloft. 

 

The scent of horse and hay and dust tickles his nose and he sneezes as he heads for the small window and the bookshelf that still rests beneath it. His heart lurches when he sees a familiar cracked binding, the words  _ Peter Pan  _ in loopy fancy script and before he knows it he’s leaning against the wall, book propped on his knees as he reads. 

 

He reads until it’s too dark to see and the cold is nipping at his exposed skin. He stands there for a minute, just breathing in the air that’s heavy with memories, and something in his chest aches so bad it makes his eyes blur. 

 

He hasn’t cried since his momma died, hadn’t had reason to, but now, now it feels like he’s lost everything and it  _ hurts.  _ It hurts like something inside is broken and bleeding and it’s not long before he’s collapsing against the wall, hands bound into fists that slam into the wood over and over again until they’re bloody and he’s sobbing for breath, aching, bleeding, dying.

 

He can’t fix himself anymore than he could ever have fixed her, and it utterly destroys him. 

 

* * *

 

Merle convinces him to go to the bar one night and after a few beers it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. They take Daryl’s old truck, Daryl behind the wheel while Merle sips from a bottle of cheap moonshine, the burning scent wafting over to him with each rambling thought Merle expounds. He nods along, not really hearing anything, hands tightening and loosening on the wheel as the radio plays.

 

He hasn’t listened to music in weeks, not since Beth left, but Merle had flipped it on and he doesn’t want to have to explain why he can’t hardly stand to hear music anymore, so he keeps quiet, the drone of his brother’s voice and the soft music in the background like white noise that he eventually doesn’t even notice. 

 

The bar is loud when they arrive, and on some level he’s grateful, because that means he doesn’t have to think. The music and people and alcohol combine in a heady mix that leaves him numb and impervious to Merle’s outrageous behavior. A small knot of women is gathered around them, paying eager attention and plied liberally with drinks so everything Merle says sounds just that little bit funnier. One of the women turns her attention to him and part of his brain registers her blonde hair and blue eyes--the wrong shade of blonde, more like dirty dishwater than sunshine, and eyes that are like still pools of murky water instead of the clear cornflower blue he’s used to. 

 

Her hand lands on his arm, sliding up his bare bicep, lingering in a way that makes him feel dirty, but he doesn’t stop her, doesn’t do much other than stare at her while she chatters on, her head tilted at what he thinks must be a painful angle, but he guesses is supposed to be appealing. She leans in and whispers something suggestive, something that makes his stomach clench and his blood rise, even as he fights disgust. 

 

They stumble outside together, her limbs loose from drink, his uncoordinated from the last whiskey he had, but they still manage to come together in the dank alley, hands fumbling on clothing until he’s got her pressed against the cold brick of the building, fucking into her hard and fast, forehead tucked into the crook of her neck, breath hot and shallow. 

 

She comes with a broken cry and he groans, spilling into the condom, hating himself even as the fog of lust begins to clear. He pulls away and hastily rearranges his clothing while she does the same, though she’s kind enough not to ask him for anything else, he can’t help but hate her too a little. 

 

When he goes back in the bar Merle isn’t anywhere he can see so he has another drink, and then another. When his older brother finally emerges from the bathroom with his arm slung around a woman, Daryl is well and truly drunk. The woman is still sober so Daryl hands over the keys, slouching against the window as she drives them back to the trailer. 

 

He collapses on the couch, trying to block out the sounds of her giggling and Merle’s drunken drawl, head throbbing with each beat of his heart. When the sounds grow louder and more passionate he lurches up from the couch and out the front door, the cold air bracing on his face. He’s stumbling through the night, trees looming up in the dark and night noises loud in his ears as his feet carry him forward without any real thought to destination. 

 

When the Greene farm appears before him his fingers clench and unclench, anxiety flooding his veins as he lurches forward, steps unsteady as he heads for the barn. His head throbs as the world around him spins and he very nearly falls down the ladder on his way up to the hayloft, things already starting to go black around the edges. 

 

Collapsing into the hay, his eyes hooded half closed as he breathes unevenly, Daryl groans, fingers clenching around the hay loosely as lights sparkle behind his eyes and the hayloft shifts dangerously around him. Swallowing back his nausea, he screws shut his eyes and exhales heavily, a shudder running over his skin as things go dark. 

* * *

 

 

He wakes in the morning, head throbbing and stomach lurching and he only has moments to slide down the ladder, uncoordinated and dizzy, before he’s stumbling to the door of the barn and vomiting, throat burning with acid. His eyes flood as he gasps, chest aching with the force of his heaves. 

 

By the time he meanders back to the trailer Merle is gone, so too is the girl. He snags a blanket and collapses onto the couch, asleep again before he’s even really settled. It’s been years since he’s felt this shitty, and he vaguely realizes that he’s going to suffer the worst hangover when he finally wakes up again. 

 

Blessedly, that doesn’t happen for nearly a whole day, and when he does wake, Merle is in the recliner, watching football and drinking. It stinks of weed and bitter resentment fills him as he realizes this is going to become routine, that every day will be like this. 

 

He doesn’t move though, he just collapses onto the thin pillow and stares blankly at the television screen, barely listening as his brother babbles on about football, alcohol and women. Some part of him realizes that this is what he deserves, what he’s earned by being a coward, and a deep darkness looms, sucking him under. 

 

He’s right where he should be, where he was always  _ meant _ to be, just like his dad, just like his brother. A dirty redneck nobody that nobody trusts, loves, or even thinks about. 

 

* * *

 

 

Life becomes a monotony; work, drinking, stumbling to the barn to read Peter Pan, aching loneliness filling every moment. 

 

He withdraws from his friends at the shop, buries himself in engines and carburetors, self loathing running deeper every day that passes. At some point he finds himself scrolling through Instagram again, searching for any word that she’s ok, that she’s happy without him, and when he sees a candid picture of her at home in Nashville, head bowed over the piano as she plays, something in him twists. 

 

He lays on the couch that night, watching all her old videos, finally noticing the way the light didn’t quite reach her eyes when she smiled or laughed. How long had she been sad? How long had he not noticed? 

 

When he wakes the next morning it’s without a hangover and an ember of determination burning in his stomach. He dresses warmly, pours a thermos of coffee and takes a peanut butter and banana sandwich with him. The air is bitter now, frost lying heavily on the wilted grass and bare branches, the creaking haunting as he passes beneath them. 

 

He pauses at the edge of the Greene property, staring up at the only place that had ever felt remotely like home to him. Even now, abandoned and empty, it calls to him. 

 

He can see that the paint is chipping in places, roof tiles loose in others, and the curve of the porch railing is unnatural. He nods,  _ good _ , he thinks, he can fix that. 

 

By noon he’s torn half the porch off—the railing rotted and unstable. He’s crawled under to check the foundations, pleased when he sees they’re still steady and true. His list of supplies is growing, but with very few expenses in his life—other than Merle’s beer—he can spare it. 

 

He eats his sandwich sitting on the porch, elbows on his knees and sleeves rolled up, gazing out at the vast lawn and fields surrounding the house.

 

It’s peaceful here.

 

Quiet. 

 

When the sandwich is gone he brushes his hands off and resumes working until the sun has slipped away—dark coming early as fall fades into winter. It’s only when he cuts his hand that he quits for the day—too dark to work safely. 

 

He packs up his tools and replaces the ones he took from the barn and cleans up a bit so it looks less like someone has decided to destroy the house and more like an active renovation. He pauses again at the property line, the house stark in the gloomy night, and for the first time in a long time he feels something like hope in his chest. 

 

Maybe even a foolish redneck like him can change. 

 

* * *

 

He comes back every day after work and on his days off, sanding the porch floor before he get the new railing and builds it. He stains everything to seal out the water and then decides to repaint. He remembers when the porch was a creamy yellow, like the sun behind clouds and hunts till he finds the right color. 

 

When he’s done it looks warm and inviting, just like he remembers it as a kid. 

 

He gets a power washer and cleans the house, buys more paint, this time in a slate grey that’s almost blue—storm clouds and sky—he thinks. It’s slow going because he finds pieces of siding loose or damaged and he has to replace them. In all it takes a week to paint, seal and repair the siding. 

 

It’s nearly Christmas now and snow falls one day, heavy and thick and he stares out the garage window, annoyance building that he won’t be able to work on the roof like he had planned. Instead he stays at the shop, finishing up a transmission repair and tinkering with his bike. 

 

He’s bone tired when he gets home and to his surprise, there’s a lot of chili simmering on the stove and the trailer is clean. He glances around suspiciously, wondering what woman Merle’s conned into cleaning and cooking. 

 

He whirls when the door opens behind him and Merle stomps in, hunting rifle over his shoulder. 

 

“Hey baby bro, almost didn’t recognize ya! Been a ghost round here!”

 

It takes Daryl a moment to realize that he’s right—he’s gone straight from the shop to the house every day for three weeks, only returning when it’s too dark and by then Merle was usually passed out. He nods unevenly and shrugs, “Been workin a lot,” he mutters. 

 

Merle raises a brow and chuckles, but doesn’t say anything. His gun leans against the wall before he washes his hands and nods at the pot of chili, “Eat summat, ya look like a ghost,” he orders, gruff concern in his voice. 

 

Daryl stares at him, shocked by the display of genuine emotion from his brother before nodding and filling a bowl. As he takes a bite he realizes how hungry he’s been and before he knows it the bowl is empty and Merle is chuckling and handing him another. 

 

They watch tv in silence for a bit before Merle sips his beer and sighs. “Ya know, I worked construction fer awhile, I might be handy fer ya over at tha Greene place.”

 

Daryl stills—he hadn’t even told Merle what he was doing, though he’s sure that word has spread in their tiny town. No one has tried to stop him, or said anything about it so he just blindly assumed they either didn’t know or didn’t care. 

 

Now he knows Merle knows what he’s been doing, and he’s offering to help, an offer that would be welcome if he wasn’t sure that Merle will eventually get bored of it and go tie one on and get in trouble like he usually does. 

 

Merle must see it in his face because he snorts and shakes his head, “Still as stubborn as ya always been,” he scoffs. “I’m yer brother Daryl, ya need help, I’ll be there.” 

 

And then with that, he gets up and swallows down the last of his beer before sauntering back to the bedroom. 

 

Daryl stares at the tv blankly until his head hurts from all the swirling thoughts pounding at his skull. He cleans up and turns out the lights, hesitating a moment before he knocks at the bedroom door. There’s a soft grunt and he exhales unevenly, still unsure this is a good idea. 

 

Still, maybe if he can change, Merle can too.

 

“I’m goin over at 6 tomorrow morning, if you want to come.”

 

There’s no response, but he knows Merle’s heard him. 

 

* * *

 

Merle is grumpy at 6am, but takes the extra thermos of coffee gratefully, quiet as Daryl drives the truck over, bed weighed down with supplies. They go about leaning ladders against the house, working from opposite sides to repair the roof before meeting in the middle sometime in the afternoon.

 

He’s grateful for the sandwiches and apples Merle’s packed for them, surprise once again filling him that his brother had spared a thought for him and recalled his preference for turkey over ham. He remembers how as a kid Merle would always switch with him when their momma was too high to remember. 

 

He studies Merle sidelong and remembers other times his brother took care of him, made sure he had food and shoes—even if he went barefoot. He can’t really blame Merle for getting away as soon as he could to escape their father, he just wishes he’d taken him with him when he went. 

 

The scars on his back feel tight for a moment and he shifts, shakes his head and finishes his apple, tossing the core over the edge of the roof to clean up later. Once they’ve finished the roof and cleaned up it’s nearing the end of the day and once more he wishes he had more time. 

 

“What’r you tryin to get from this?”

 

He glances up at Merle in surprise, confused by the question. “Whaddya mean?” he asks hesitantly.

 

Merle rolls his eyes at him but answers anyway, “All this yer doin, what you hopin fer? That pretty little girl ta notice ya? Forgive ya?”

 

“I...no…it’s not…” Daryl stutters and shakes his head, cheeks burnishing from embarrassment as his brother eyes him critically. “Just tryin to do tha right thing,” he finally manages. 

 

Merle scoffs and shakes his head, grinning, “Sure baby bro, I got a bridge ta sell ya too,” he says with a loud chortling laugh, shaking his head as he tosses tools into the truck. 

 

“What—what’s that mean?” Daryl demands, anger rising in him swiftly. 

 

Merle puts more tools and supplies into the bed of the truck and shoots him a wry smile, “Means ya ain’t that stupid. Ya can’t go apologize ta her cuz she’s some big star, so yer doin this, hopin she’ll notice and forgive ya.” He shrugs and nods, “Ain’t a half bad idea. Cept women love ta hear ya talk, spillin yer guts all over tha place, so just, call her,” he advises and Daryl keeps staring at him like he’s suddenly grown a second head, because really, that would be less surprising than his brother suddenly giving him relationship advice. 

 

He scoffs and shakes his head, head and heart in turmoil, silent on the drive back to the trailer. Merle showers and goes out, leaving him alone to watch tv mindlessly, fingers turning and tapping the phone in his hands. 

 

He’s avoided social media for weeks, refused to look her up, too afraid of what he’d see. Here in the privacy of his loneliness though, he can finally allow himself to look. He unlocks the phone, opens Instagram, and pauses, thumb hovering over the icon for her account. The skin around the nail is red and inflamed, bitten to the quick, calloused and dirty—the hands of a man used to working hard. 

 

The hands of a man afraid and lonely, wondering if he’ll ever be good enough for the woman he’s already in love with. With a deep, shaky breath, he taps her name and goes through the most recent pictures and videos, stomach swooping each time he sees her face. 

 

She’s frequently at the piano, writing new songs and singing old ones, and there’s still no light in her eyes, just grief and exhaustion. There’s nothing about him in any of her posts, though people ask on nearly every one what happened—who is he? What happened? Are they in love? 

 

There’s a short new video where she announces a collaboration with two new artists he’s never heard of, telling the live stream audience that the songs are based on personal experience and she hopes her fans love them as much as she does. 

 

Setting aside the phone, he stares down at his hands, exhaustion swelling behind his eyes till they feel weighed down by lead. He stares at the phone for a long time before it’s suddenly in his hands and he’s typing out a message to her and hitting send, and shit, he can’t take it back.

 

**_DD: I miss you_ **

 

He’s half asleep when his phone chirps to let him know he’s got a message, and what’s on the screen is like a kick to the stomach; all the air rushes from his lungs as pain swells within him and he curls in around himself, staring numbly at the screen.

 

**_BG: you’re the one who walked away_ **

 

When the fog clears, he responds without thinking. 

 

**_DD: so did you_ **

 

She doesn’t reply. 


End file.
